Rewriting the Story
by cuiltheory
Summary: While imprisoned in the hospital for the criminally insane, Will meets a potential new ally; an author who vows to "rewrite" his story and bring the real killer to justice. (OC) Try to update once weekly, review for faster updates!
1. Chapter 1

"Hello, Will." He sat on a bench behind the bars, hunched over, hands on his knees, staring vacantly at the wall opposite of him. She notices how his hair is greasy and his eyes are hollow, circles engraved deeply underneath, barely a flicker of a light still present in the iris' glassy surface.

He notices that her hair is nicely kept, worn wavy and swept over one shoulder. He notices that her makeup, clothes and jewelry are all well-polished, almost too well polished, as if she is wearing a costume. He notices everything about her, except for her eyes. He doesn't like eyes. Eyes lie.

"Who are you?" When he spoke he was surprised at how old his voice sounded. Old and antique and crackly, like a record player at an antique store that has been set aside to gather dust, its purpose ignored.

"I'm a novelist. I write books. Fiction. My name is Carmen Banks." She watched him carefully, and while he remained in the same posture and demeanor, she found the recognition on his face. He'd read her books before—or at least heard of them. His lack of response was expected, but she hadn't planed this conversation as well as she'd meant to.

"Of course, you're real. Sorry, you probably already knew that." He noticed that there was something uncertain about her demeanor, and while she looked polished, professional, and well-kempt, this was the first time she'd done this sort of thing. She didn't make house—prison-calls often. This uncertainty assured him that she had good intentions. He'd read her books before—what seemed like a lifetime ago—and he enjoyed them. He just wasn't sure he wanted to be the subject of one.

He stood up, and made his way over to the front of the cell. His limbs had atrophied from his time here, and although it had only been a few months, it felt like years. He couldn't imagine what years would feel like. He figured that given years here, he would lose the ability to feel altogether.

"No, no, it's nice to have some affirmation every once in a while. Sometimes, in here, I find myself doubting." When he spoke, it was even worse than the first time. It was clear that he hadn't said a word in a long while. His voice had decayed, reduced to what was almost a croak.

"I've been reading about you since The Tattler. Your story is fascinating, it almost reads like fiction." At the mention of the article, he felt a cold convulsion run through his spine. He managed to compose himself quickly, and respond.

"That may be because most of it is."

"Yes, I suppose it doesn't paint you in a very flattering light." He laughed bitterly,

"No, no it doesn't."

"Do you believe any of it? Do you think you killed those girls?"

"I—I used to be sure. I'm sorry-what exactly are you doing here?"

"I've followed your story with great interest. See, lately I've had a terrible case of writers' block. But I'm not here to tell your story. I'm here to change it. And hopefully break through this block in the process. I'm sorry, but I have to return to my previous question. Do you think you killed them?"

"I know that I didn't kill Mallory. But Abigail—I don't know. Time in this place, it sort of scrambles everything. I've been trying to hold on—not to fade, but now I'm finding that I'm not so sure about anything. Everything is hazy. The past, the future, even this, right now." He's not sure why he trusts her, but he can tell that she's sincere. No matter her intentions.

"Well, I assure you that I'm real. And I can assure you that you didn't kill any of those girls. Because I know who did." This barely fazed him. He leaned his head back, sticking his chin out.

"And who is that?"

"Doctor Hannibal Lecter." Immediately his demeanor shifted. He stood up straight and his eyes seemed to clear immediately.

"Hannibal?"

"Yes.

"And why are you so sure?"

"I did some research of my own. I requested access to this case, and the evidence. Chief Crawford approved me to have this conversation with you. I'm a rather well-known author, my presence here could have major influence if I needed it be. I said I had drawn inspiration from your story for my next novel. I told Jack I was focusing on the psychological elements. Your disease and how it may have crippled your willpower, causing the deaths of those girls. I bought a house, in an empty clearing, a couple miles across from the lake where you live. As I'm sure you can piece together, I'm quite dedicated to this story. Sometimes the lights are on. One night, when they weren't, I went in, planted some bugs and cameras in the rooms that weren't lit. The lights came on consistently, around midnight, for six days. Then I waited for another week, and another, and they never came back on again. I recovered the devices, and I found out who'd been turning the lights on. Your psychiatrist."

"What was he doing in my house?"

"Tampering—at first I figured he was planting evidence, but they'd already acquired everything they needed from the crime scene. The thing is, there was more that he needed. He was taking things—personal things, studying them, as if he was trying to get to know you better. He already knows you as a colleague, and a patient—I think for some reason he felt the need to know you personally. I believe he is composing his testimony. Your trial _is _in three weeks."

"What are you going to do about it?"

"Well, all the evidence I've gathered so far is admissible in court. I have plans however. One of the most fascinating articles of evidence Crawford's team has gathered so far are the clock drawings that you supposedly created. The clocks that Hannibal had accumulated through your therapy are all normal. The clock you drew for Alana was skewed, showing clear evidence of the symptoms of encephalitis. But when I was examining the two side by side, I noticed a clear discrepancy. The number four was drawn in two entirely different styles. This on its own isn't enough to implicate Hannibal, there are plenty of justifications that could be made for the change. But I believe that the drawings Doctor Lecter handed over to the police are not the originals. I think they were forgeries. If I could recover the originals, it would provide compelling evidence against the good Doctor. I believe, Will, that you are innocent. I saw how this story was going to end, and I have to say, it's rather disappointing. So I think, with your blessing, I'd like to rewrite it. What do you say?"

She doesn't offer a hand to shake. Handshakes mean nothing here.

"What would this entail on my end?"

"I'll be visiting regularly, asking you whatever questions I need answers to in order to crack this case. You'll have to answer me honestly. That's why I asked you about the girls. I wanted to make sure they hadn't entirely convinced you that you were guilty yet. I needed to make sure you still had doubts. You'll need to keep those doubts, of course. It should be easier to do, knowing there is someone who knows you are innocent. Do we have an agreement?"

He considers for a moment. He doesn't have much to lose. The only worse thing than staying here would be dying, and he'd been beginning to think that maybe even that would provide some relief.

"Alright."

"Excellent. I'll also be questioning your colleagues; Alana, Jack, Beverly. I may also attempt to ascertain Ms. Lound's perspective on all of this. I think that possibly, if she's shown the evidence against another suspect, she may switch sides. She doesn't want to hurt you, she just wants the best story. And I think my story has a better ending." She smiles.

"I'll see you soon, Will. Keep fighting. Stay sharp. You're far from fading." He's not sure whether to say goodbye or good luck, so he settles on,

"Thank you." She smiled once more and turned on her heel, walking back down the hallway.

"And Carmen," She stopped.

"Yes?"

"Stay away from Hannibal Lecter." The moment he said it, he felt glad. He very well may have just saved a life.

"I know."

Her response, for some reason, made him feel safer. He had an ally now. Maybe even an ally worth fighting for.


	2. Chapter 2

Carmen's car was a white BMW. Amidst the sea of black, silver, and navy cars at the precinct, it stood out. Carmen had been routinely visiting the precinct once a week for the last month. It had taken her four weeks to fully study the evidence, and four weeks to devise a precise plan that would result in the clearing of Will Graham's name. No one at the precinct had an inkling of her true intentions, but she managed to keep them all cooperative anyway.

It was September, and it was cold outside. In the time it took to drive straight from the asylum to the precinct, the windows of her car had frosted over. She pulled into her usual parking space, which was the visitors' spot closest to the entrance, pushed open the large glass doors, and stepped inside.

She liked the feel of the precinct. It was warm and cold at the same time. It was busy and impersonal, functioning for the sole purpose of maintaining the bigger picture, careless of the people who worked to keep it intact. The atmosphere of the building gave the illusion of anonymity, even though she was anything but anonymous to the people inside. She took off her coat and folded it over one arm, her heels making that irritating noise with every step she took. This whole outfit was nothing like what she usually wore, but it was important to keep up the impression. She found the heels uncomfortable and the skirt far too tight, but it made her look important and so she put up with the minor discomforts.

A female file-worker, Linda Berring, greeted her immediately.

"Hello Ms. Banks, what will you be needing today?" Carmen rather liked Linda, although she was more upbeat than she normally would've preferred, Linda was respectful and professional, and that was admirable.

"I'd like to speak to Jack, if he's not too busy."

"No examining the evidence today?"

"No, in fact, I don't think I'll need to see it again."

"Just Jack?"

"Yes, if you don't mind."

"Alright, I'll go and see if he can spare a moment. You can just wait in the visitors' chair while I go get him."

"Thank you Linda." She nodded courteously and headed off towards what Carmen assumed to be Jack's office.

Carmen cautiously stood up and glanced at the large whiteboard in the center of the room. It was hard to read the slanted writing from so far away, but she made out the words 'hit', 'run', and 'narcotics'. Nothing that interested her. She sat back down and waited.

It was less than two minutes before the door to Jack's office opened, and Jack himself emerged.

She stood up again, and gave a small wave. He headed towards her.

"Sorry about the wait. I was actually on a phone call with Doctor Chilton. He assured me that your conversation with Will went smoothly."

"Indeed it did. He was very cooperative and honest."

"Did he seem stable?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Jack, you of all people should know Will was never stable. I don't suspect he ever will be either. But there are plenty of unstable people in the world who are not serial murderers. I count myself as one of them. Now, if you were inquiring to his mental state, I'd say that being incarcerated has taken a toll on him, but he's not close to cracking. I don't see him having a breakdown for a long time. Although the procedures of the trial could accelerate that process."

"That's good to know. But I suspect you aren't here just to tell me how your meeting with Will went."

"No, I'm actually here to talk to you. Remember how I told you I planned on interviewing those close to Will in order to compose a timeline of his mental disintegration, once I finished examining the evidence?"

"Are you telling me you've finished examining the evidence?"

"Well, don't you catch on quickly."

"It took you long enough. The people down in forensics were getting worried about the amount of time you were spending looking at those drawings. So who will you be interviewing first?"

"Well, actually, I was wondering if you could spare a minute. I believe you've known Will the longest, and you were there for several of his episodes, if my research is correct."

"Isn't it always?"

"Well, I try my best to make sure I only absorb the truths, that is, of course before turning them into fiction. That is why I'm here after all—research. Shall I conduct the interview in your office?"

"I don't see why not. We're close to closing this case, it's been a slow day anyway."

"Great. Lead the way." She followed Jack down the hallway, through a door, and into his office. It was a very standard space; large wooden desk cluttered with files, telephone next to a white porcelain mug half full of lukewarm coffee, degree framed and hung above stacks of stored-away papers in the back right corner of the room. A smaller corkboard was placed on the left side of the room, also addressing the narcotic related hit and run being handled in the body of the precinct. There were two chairs opposite the one placed center on the other side. He gestured to one of them,

"Please, make yourself comfortable." He sat and she took a seat.

"Now, before I start asking you questions, I'd like to make a request."

"Go on."

"I found my time with Will Graham to be some of the most well spent since I've arrived here. I'm very interested in him-and his story, as you already know. So I was simply wondering if you could arrange with doctor Chilton permission for regular visits. I was thinking once a week, maybe more once my progress on the novel picks up."

"You do realize Will is in an institution for the insane. He spends most of his time in solitary. Anyone he interacts with weekly puts themselves at great risk in the case he were to be released, or, although unlikely, escape. I could make the request of Doctor Chilton, but you'd have to speak with him about what weekly visits would entail."

"Those are terms I can live with. Could you speak with him by Friday?"

"I believe that's possible-but before I do anything, I want to see some progress on this book."

"I've already written the first two chapters. I could get you the first forty pages by Wednesday."

"I'll call him as soon as the pages are on my desk."

"Excellent. Now, shall we begin?" She withdrew a recording device, a notepad, and a pen from her bag, then set the three items on the desk.

"I hope you don't mind me recording this conversation. When working on my previous novel, I would always listen to the interview recordings when I found myself dealing with writers block. Of course, if you're uncomfortable, I can attempt to transcribe it by hand."

He hesitated for a moment before responding, "You can record starting now."

With his agreement, she pressed a small red button on the device.

"Do you promise this recording will only be for personal use?" He attempted to ascertain eye contact with her, but her gaze stayed steadily fixed on the recorder, refusing to come up to meet his.

"Absolutely. Now, are you ready for my first question?"

"How long have you known Will?"

"He first came to my attention back when he was a cop. Now keep in mind, he was a shitty cop, so I didn't really notice him until I heard about the whole in incident that got him kicked off the force before he turned to teaching."

"When did you recruit him to your task force?"

"After the eighth Hobbs murder."

"Why?"

"We were getting nowhere. Our leads had all dried up, and I figured his particular set of skills would prove very advantageous. Of course, now we know why he was able to come up with the killer so easily."

"He took quite a few cases after the Hobbs murders."

"I'm sorry, I only answer questions."

"I'm sorry, I'll be more clear. At what point did signs of his mental deterioration first show?"

"Around the fourth case, with the angelmaker. An officer from Wolftrapp told me they'd found him standing in the road, unable to remember how he got there. It didn't concern me much. I figured he'd probably had a little too much to drink before bed. I never thought it pointed to any mental instability."

"But it got worse, didn't it?"

"Yes. The totem case, he apologized for leaving when he'd been there the whole time. He tried to cover it up but I could tell something was wrong."

"Did he ever express concerns of his own?"

"After we caught the angelmaker-or after he surrendered—that was what Will said—he expressed interest in permanently retiring from the field and returning to the classroom. I understood that seeing those things could cause great mental trauma—that's why I insisted he start seeing Doctor Lecter—but I never thought-I never saw Will as a killer. You know, when we found the evidence, I felt stupid. He'd been right there the whole time and I never saw it coming."

"What did Doctor Lecter say about his mental health?"

"I suppose Will fooled him too, up to the very last second. You know how things played out in the end."

"You shot him."

"I found him with a gun pointed at Hannibal's head and I incapacitated him."

"Was there any point at which he resented how much you needed him?"

"He had doubts of course, but every decision he made was of his own will."

"Are you saying you never pushed him?"

"No, of course not. I just—I didn't know how close he was to the edge."

…

She leaned over and pressed the red button on the device, hindering the recording.

"I'm sorry those questions got so intense. It helps me more that way, it gives me a better feel for the emotions that those who were close to Will were experiencing."

"I must say, I've never found interviews of any kind to be particularly pleasant, especially lately. I'm just glad you got what you needed." She began packing up her materials from the desk.

"Of course. Oh, also I'd appreciate if you could get me Alana Bloom's contact information, and maybe reach out to Doctor Lecter—see if he'd be interested in speaking to me. I'll type up those pages, expect them on your desk by Wednesday." She zipped up her purse and turned to face Crawford.

"I'll get back to you then.", he answered.

"Thank you. Your help has been irreplacable."

"Do you need me to walk you out?"

"No, I think I can find my own way." She lifted her purse over her shoulder and pulled open the door.

"Well then, I guess this is goodbye." He offered a tight smile, and she beamed back. It was the smile she practiced in the mirror—grateful, but still professional, not too toothy, just wide enough to make the receiver feel as though they have done something worthwhile.

"Goodbye, Jack."

"Carmen." She stepped through the door. He called after her,

"I look forward to seeing those forty pages."

The door swung shut.


	3. Chapter 3

When she had told Jack Crawford that she had already written the first two chapters, she had lied. In fact, Carmen Banks had not written one literary word since she arrived in Virginia. She'd signed checks and taken down phone numbers, but she hadn't even completed a single grocery list in the time since she'd arrived in Virginia.

So after the interview with Jack, Carmen returned to her white BMW, and she drove straight home. Sometimes she forgot that this was her home. Wolftrap Virginia. She'd lived in California and New York and Seattle. But this place was different. She had come here planning to rent an apartment for a while, track down whoever it was that ran the Baltimore State Prison for the Criminally Insane, leverage her influence to obtain an interview with Will Graham, and write a novel loosely based on the murders of the Minnesota Shrike. However, once she got there, things got complicated.

Will was being held under federal jurisdiction, which meant she would need a referral from someone high up in law enforcement. And it turned out the apartment she had been trying to rent had been the site of a rather bloody murder, still considered a crime scene. But after staying a few days in a motel, she fell in love with the town and the trees and the quaint wood-panel houses and the birds that woke her up at an ungodly hour of the morning. So she found a nice, faded blue, pain-chipped, wood-paneled, forty-year old colonial next to a small lake and she bought it. She had plenty of spending money stored away, and she figured that even after she got her interview it would make a nice, quiet writing spot.

Then she found out that her house was a quarter of a mile away from Will Graham's home. This, of course, led her to wonder why the lights of an imprisoned man's home came on every night at an hour past midnight. And this, this led her to investigate and eventually confirm that Will Graham was innocent—something she'd already suspected-but her most valuable discovery since arriving at Wolftrap was that Doctor Hannibal Lecter was not.

Her heels creaked against the rotting floorboards, she was careful not to let the stilettos snag in between the cracks of the wooden panels. She withdrew the house key from her purse and unlocked the door, roughly pushing it open as wood splintered from the doorframe. Once inside, she quickly placed her thumb on the monitor next to the door and kicked the door shut. Opening the door triggered a laser, which put a timer on activating the second level of security if a thumb print was not confirmed within the next two minutes. Carmen Banks was a little more than paranoid. But she saw nothing wrong with being a little extra cautious. She'd been sure to throw the press off the trail of her whereabouts, hinting at taking a much needed vacation in some sort of secluded island retreat. She had all mail delivered to a P.O. box, which she checked twice a week, unless otherwise necessary. She'd requested for all records of housing purchase to be sealed away with maximum security. As far as anyone who didn't bother coming up to her front doorstep (an action which would be registered by the security monitors positioned above the garage and front door) knew, this house was still unoccupied.

The house was frigid—the insulation was still subpar, and she wasn't willing to call a contractor to come and fix it. She was also not willing to go to the hardware store to buy the equipment needed to repair insulation herself. She kicked off her shoes and stepped quickly up the plywood stairs changing quickly into a henley, jeans, and thick woolen socks before returning back downstairs, to the desk which faced the big window in the living room, offering a clear view of the lake and surrounding forest. As well as, of course, Will Graham's home. Her laptop sat in waiting and she took a deep breath as she opened it and a blank white page and steady blinking black cursor welcomed her. She perched her hands on the keyboard, and waited. Waited for lighting to strike or words to come to the front of her mind and the tip of her tongue and spread through to the pads of her fingers as they used to, and now did not.

She thought of Will Graham, in the prison cell. Hunched over, resigned, and then, standing, like an animal who has decided that the opportunity of obtaining the bait has outweighed the risk of being trapped. He used to be a fisherman. A woman down in forensics told her that—Beverly something. She looked down at her fingers as they began to move, keying two words at the center of the title page.

"The Hunter".

It was a start.

And seven hours later, it was a beginning.

…

"Forty pages as promised." Jack glanced up from the case file he appeared to be studying, not high enough to be looking at Carmen, but enough to see the neatly paper clipped stack that lay before him. He adjusted the brims of his reading glasses.

"You're a day early."

"Inspiration dropped by unannounced. Thankfully I already had a room ready."

Lazily, he drew it towards him, eventually placing it over the case he had originally been studying.

"The Hunter?"

"It's a working title, subject to change, but I've grown rather attached to it in the time it took me to think it up and deliver it here, so I doubt it will."

In a single motion, he licked a calloused thumb and flicked through the pages.

"That appears to be in order. I'll take your word for it not being total crap. Now, I don't exactly have the time to read through all of this right now, but—" He opened one of the desk drawers, and withdrew a thin manila file folder.

"This is contact information for everyone I know had a personal relationship with Will Graham. And, being the kind of man he is, I doubt that he had many others. I'll leave the persuasion to you, but if you need me to pitch in a good word for you to sway someone's mind, then I'd be happy to do so. I'll call Doctor Chilton as soon as I finish reading this," He gestured to the beginning of the manuscript.

"I'm going to hope my deadline didn't rush you, and that I'll like what I read. I'm also going to hope that you abided by our legality agreement."

"Don't worry. No real names or discernible characteristics of anyone involved."

"Good. Is that all for now?" She plucked the thin file folder off of his desk and slid it into her purse.

"It should suffice. Now, if you'll excuse me," Carmen grinned.

"I have writing to do."

She left his office, quickly withdrawing her flip phone and discretely snapping a photo of this week's crime board as she exited.

She had some phone calls to make.

**Hi everyone, sorry this chapter didn't cover very much, I hadn't updated in a while so I sort of rushed it. I'll continue trying to update every week/2 weeks. Thanks everyone, all feedback and reviews are greatly appreciated. More feedback=more updates, thanks for reading! **


	4. Chapter 4

Carmen didn't even glance at the list until she was home. She didn't take it out of her purse until she had changed into more comfortable clothes, made a cup of coffee, and shut all the blinds.  
Then she set it on her desk with the utmost care, and turned to the first page. How kind. Jack had found the time to alphabetize the names. Alana Bloom was first. Carmen spent the night working out the specifics of how she planned for the conversation to go. In the morning, she felt ready, anxiously dialing the phone while pacing up and down the floorboards by the stairs.  
"Hello, am I speaking to Alana Bloom?"  
"You are indeed. Who is this?" Doctor Bloom did not receive many unsolicited phone calls, and she generally went to extreme measures to keep her personal phone number private.  
"Jack Crawford gave me your contact information." There was a short silence.  
"Well, that's unusual. I'm sorry, I don't believe I caught your name?"  
"It's Carmen Banks." A longer pause this time. She could almost hear Alana's eyebrows raise.  
"The established novelist?" Carmen appreciated that Alana went to the trouble to mention her by her occupation, and not an associated novel title or news article headline, such as "Three Time New York Bestselling Author by the Age of Twenty-One".  
"Yes, that's me."  
"I thought you were vacationing at some tropical island?" Carmen laughed.  
"No, actually quite the opposite. I actually bought a house here in Virginia a couple weeks ago. I only meant to stay long enough to cure my writers' block, but things have grown more complicated." Carmen put stress on the word 'complicated', indicating to Alana that it was a complication that plagued both of them.  
"Is this about Will Graham?" Alana sounded wary.  
"Indirectly, yes. Crawford granted me access to all the case material, evidence and all. He even managed to procure me an interview with Will at the institution."  
"Are you writing a book about him?" She was surprised at how defensive Doctor Bloom sounded of Will Graham's privacy. That was good, it meant they were on the same side. Carmen knew that in order to keep Alana on the line she would have to respond carefully.  
"No! My book is centered vaguely around the events of the Hobbs case. The characters may be inspired by those involved in the case, but I promise, I would never write anything that could jeopardize a real human being. Jack is under the impression that Will is more central to my story than he really is. It was the only way I could persuade him to let me interview Will. I actually—while I was examining the case evidence, I encountered something startling that I believe Jack's team may have missed. I'd rather discuss it in person though. Is there somewhere we could meet? "  
"Umm—sure. We could meet this afternoon at Brickenridge park. Does two o' clock work for you?"  
"Two is great! I'll see you then."  
"Alright then."  
"Goodbye." Alana hung up. Carmen stopped pacing and set the phone on the kitchen counter. She had a goal in contacting Alana, and it wasn't to extract information about Will Graham. Carmen knew that in order to take down the likes of Doctor Lecter, she would need support. She couldn't defend Will on her own. But with someone like Doctor Bloom on her side, she might stand a fighting chance.  
Carmen didn't bother wearing the heels and pencil skirt to the park. If she overdressed, it could give Alana the impression that she was desperate. Which she was, of course. But she didn't need to show it. So Carmen wore a large sweater, tight black pants, and boots, leaving her light hair loose over one shoulder. And then she grabbed a purse and coat, locked her door, and got in her white BMW.  
Brickenridge park was relatively small, the kind of park that was ideal for jogging or walking dogs, but not picnics or playing soccer. As Carmen pulled her car to the curb, she noticed that Alana had several dogs with her. There was one with a sort of brown speckled, rusty coat, a large white one with pointed ears, and a black-coated one with a white muzzle and expressive brown eyebrows.  
Carmen walked over to Alana, who was sitting at a bench holding several leashes. As Carmen neared her, some of the dogs tugged towards her, whining and whimpering. Alana managed to reign them in, and stood up to extend a handshake.  
"It's great to meet you, Carmen. I didn't really know if you would show up, or if—you know, you were you at all."  
"I'm glad that you agreed to meet with me. Are these your dogs?" Carmen scratched behind the ears of the rust-colored dog, allowing him to sniff her hand before she patted his head.  
"These actually—they're Will's. I told him I would keep them indefinitely. That one is Winston, this is Fiona, and that one is Gulliver. I have to admit, it gets a bit overwhelming, taking care of seven dogs all on my own. Thankfully they all seem to like me just fine. Although Winston still hasn't entirely warmed up to me. I think he's just shy around new people. He seems to like you just fine though." Whenever Carmen would stop petting Winston, he would nuzzle her hand with his wet nose unceasingly until she resumed stroking his fur.  
"I've always loved dogs. Couldn't have one though, with all the travelling and the city apartment, you know. But I don't think I'll be going anywhere for a while. Which reminds me of the topic at hand." Carmen reached into her purse and withdrew another copy of the forty pages she had given to Jack.  
"This is everything I've written so far. I wanted you to know I was true to my word. Also, in my story, the character that was inspired by Will isn't the villain." She extended the packet towards Alana, who hesitated for a moment before taking it and tucking it into her purse as she sat.  
"I never saw Will as a villain either. No one did, really. We all knew he was unstable, I was witness to it more than most, but I never thought—I mean—he killed seven girls. How could I have missed that?"  
"That's what I actually wanted to talk to you about. This may sound insane, but I've spent weeks gathering evidence to back it up, so hear me out." Carmen joined Alana in sitting on the bench.  
"I don't think Will is the killer."  
"Then who do you suspect is?"  
"One night I couldn't sleep so I pulled on a jacket and decided to jog. I found myself heading towards the direction of Will's house. I knew a little about Will's case at this point, like which house was his and that the police had finished examining it. But when I jogged by, the lights in some of the rooms were on. I came back every night for a few weeks, and once a week, for three weeks, someone would show up around midnight, and lurk around Will's house until three in the morning. On the third week, I got close enough to see his face as he left, and I recognized him from the Tattler articles as Doctor Hannibal Lecter. After that night, I never saw the lights come on again."  
"What would Hannibal be doing in Will's house at midnight?"  
"That's what I was wondering, and that's why I needed to look at all the case information. I was studying the clock drawings, the ones that Hannibal handed over as evidence, compared to the one he drew for you in prison. One of the clocks that Hannibal claims Will had drawn has a four drawn in a different style than all the others. I cross-checked it with a sample of Doctor Lecter's handwriting, and the styles were identical. I believe Hannibal forged the drawings that he handed over, and may have kept the original drawings for personal use. I think that whatever motivated him to make midnight visits to Will's house is the same thing that is motivating him to keep the original clock drawings hidden." Alana stood up, clasping tightly at the three leashes as the dogs tugged against her.  
"You do realize that Doctor Lecter is my colleague of several years, and these allegations are beyond severe."  
"I do. That's why I haven't told them to anyone else."  
"So what are you asking me to do?"  
"I'm asking you to look over the evidence, and their behavior, and tell me if you think I'm right, or totally insane. But, if you think I'm right, and you read that manuscript, and you think my intentions are good, then I want you to help me free Will Graham." She stood up from the bench.  
"I will think about it. But whatever I feel is true, it will be because I feel it. Not because of the evidence anyone has given me."  
"If you have any questions at all, you have my phone number. I'd appreciate if you would tell me when you reach your decision. If my case is helpless, I'd like to know as soon as possible."

"I will call you when I decide. I have to go now. Nice meeting you Carmen."

"You as well. I wish you the best of endings."

Alana smirked. "You know, I've read nearly all of your books. For a crime and horror writer, you certainly have a taste for happy endings."

"Of course. I have an obligation to those characters whose lives I change."

They made eye contact for a brief second, Carmen's green-gold irises locking onto Alana's icy blue before Alana blinked hurriedly, standing frozen in place for a moment before turning away and walking the dogs away. Carmen stood up and walked back to her car. Now all there was to do was wait.

**Here you go, everyone, Chapter 4! Reviews, likes, and follows are all GREATLY appreciated! I should have the next update ready sometime in the next two and a half weeks. Hope you enjoy!**


	5. Chapter 5

It had been a week since Carmen had last seen Will. A day since she'd spoken to Alana.  
Being a professional writer was a strange thing. Carmen would wake up after a night of restless sleep—she never awoke feeling refreshed-and then she would sit up on her large, otherwise unoccupied bed, and look around the stark, wooden room for a few minutes wondering where she was. Then she would remember Will Graham, and then she would realize—Wolftrap, Virginia.  
Then she would get dressed, make some coffee, and open up her laptop. Today when she checked her email, she found a message from Jack that'd come through late the previous night.  
Carmen,  
Keep writing your masterpiece.  
Well that was rather unlike Jack. The pages must've been better than she'd thought. Either that, or Jack's taste was dissolving.  
Called Chilton, set up meeting for four o' clock Wednesday. If there's anything else you need, let me know. –JC  
Today was Wednesday. Carmen knew she'd get Chilton's permission. Every decision Chilton had made this far indicated that he was curious what impact she would have on someone as unstable as Will. She would have to play into his curiosity. That wouldn't be a problem. What she was worried about was whether she'd be capable of playing nice.  
She dressed in an outfit like the ones she normally wore to the precinct. Pencil skirt, blouse, black heels, blonde hair worn wavy over one shoulder. The parking lot at the institution was understandably small. They didn't get many visitors here. She stepped out of the car and up to the entrance of the building. Once inside, there were a few chairs set against a wall in a sort of waiting area, and then two hallways that diverged into separate paths. One led to the offices of those who worked here—people like Chilton—and the other to people who 'lived' here. People like Will Graham.  
It was five minutes before she heard footsteps from the office hallway.  
"Carmen, do come in." He wore a navy suit and a garish purple tie.  
"Doctor Chilton." He smiled pointedly and gestured for her to follow behind him as he turned and began walking down the better lit hallway.  
"I'm sorry you had to wait. We don't exactly have a reception desk."  
"Understandable, considering the functions of the institution."  
Chilton's office was more of a collection. A collection of well-oiled furniture and dark decorative pieces suited to a man with better taste. He took the ornate chair behind the desk, and gestured to the one on the other side. The thick drapes let in minimal natural light, and while Carmen counted four lamps in the room, only one was actually being used.  
"Please, have a seat." She sat and set her purse on the ground. There was a short silence, both unwilling to be the first to initiate the conversation that would follow. Eventually, Chilton wet his lips and spoke.  
"So, I understand you have an interest in patient Graham."  
"That's correct. I assume that Jack sent you a copy of my manuscript." Chilton hesitated.  
"He said he wouldn't tell you that I asked."  
"Oh, he didn't. But I expected him to do so when I gave him the copy. I figured it was the only way you would even consider my proposition. Have you finished reading it?"  
"I only received it yesterday—but yes, I have. I'm a fast reader, and your book held my attention."  
"So you liked it?"  
"It's a masterpiece, both in the literary and psychological aspects involved. The mental illnesses of both characters are immaculately portrayed. There was just one thing that was sort of unclear, after finishing. I hope you don't mind if I ask."  
"Go ahead."  
"Which one is Will? The hunter, or the fisherman?" Carmen smiled.  
"I intend to make that very clear in the end." Chilton let out a sound of amused irritation.  
"So I guess I'll have to wait to find that out."  
"I'm afraid so. Now, about the visitation rights—"  
"Of course. After reading the pages, I understand why face-to-face interviews would be so helpful. I just had a few questions."  
"I'm listening."  
"What would your interviews entail?"  
"I would need to be alone with Will in an environment that will keep his responses uncompromised. If he is observed, or suspects he is observed in any way, it could taint his answers. I need to maintain the status of a lawyer figure to him."  
"He's refused to speak to any lawyers."  
"Let me clarify. I need to maintain the status of a good lawyer. Of course, we've already discussed how the information I learn from him will be used. We've agreed that I will not record any of our meetings. And he has already consented to provide information about his experiences to me, for the purpose of research for my novel. Can you promise me an uncompromised environment in which to conduct the meetings between Will Graham?"  
"I believe that is agreeable. I do, however, have one requirement. As you know, I am responsible for monitoring Will Graham's mental health while he remains in this institution. So I must be allowed to question him after each of your meetings as to what you discussed, to make sure the topics approached didn't open any old wounds or prompt any psychological trauma. I won't prompt him to go into excessive detail unless it's clear that your meeting has unsettled him in some way."  
"I agree to that."  
"One last question. Will Graham is held here because he's suspected of the brutal murder of a number of young women,"  
"Seven, I believe."  
"Yes, seven. As I was saying, brutal murders prompted by rising insanity and mental instability, hallucinations, and paranoia. Anyone who visits someone like patient Graham puts themselves at extreme risk. Were he to become fixated with you, especially with the fact that there is still a small chance he could be found not guilty, there is nothing to stop him from finding you after his release."  
"So what are you asking me?"  
"Are you willing to put yourself at that great a risk for research?" Carmen smiled.  
"Yes I am." Chilton stood up and extended a hand in offering of a handshake. Carmen stood, and extended her arm to meet his.  
"There's a few contracts you need to sign, and then you'll be granted full visitation rights. As often as you need as soon as I receive your signatures."  
"Thank you, that's better than I expected."  
"If you weren't the writer you are, I wouldn't even have considered it."  
"Well then, I guess I'm just lucky." He pulled a paper clipped stack from his desk and handed it to her.  
"I'll have these to you by tomorrow. I hope you don't mind if I visit right after. I need to get some facts straight for this chapter I'm working on." She tucked the papers in her purse and started towards the door.  
"That should be fine. I'll see you tomorrow Ms. Banks."  
"Until then."  
Tomorrow she would see Will.  
They had a lot to talk about.

**Thanks for reading, everyone! The story should be picking up pace from here, and I'm looking forward to writing it. Please review, like, and follow! Updates will continue to be released bi-weekly. **


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning, at exactly 9:00 AM, Carmen dropped the signed contracts on Doctor Chilton's desk. He looked up from the document he'd been reading, and upon seeing Carmen, smiled.  
"Good morning, Carmen. I must say, I didn't expect to see you this early." Today he wore a terribly tailored beige suit and a nearly fluorescent turquoise tie.  
"Inspiration doesn't work office hours, unfortunately." Chilton stood up and started towards the door.  
"Neither do psychologists at criminal institutions, fortunately for you. I've arranged for your visit in the area where clients and their lawyers ordinarily meet." They began walking down the hallway, and as they passed a guard, Chilton gestured for him to follow.  
"It's unmonitored, for legal purposes. You won't be interrupted. We'll keep a guard posted in the corridor, for safety. The walls are soundproof." Chilton opened a door in the hallway and ushered Carmen inside.  
"A guard will bring Will in shortly. At half an hour, tell the guard outside if you need more time. The maximum I can allow you is one hour."  
"Half an hour should be plenty. Thank you for your accommodation."  
"You're welcome. Have fun." He said with a facetious smirk before turning back down the hallway. The door shut. There was one window in the room. She'd noticed it was tinted from the outside, but she could clearly see the hallway from inside. There were no mirrors, which eliminated all visual observation. She used her cellphone to check for interference which could be caused by listening devices. The room appeared clean. In the middle of the space, there was a metal desk, and at each end, a matching chair. She sat, and it was not long until the door opened again. The guard opened the door and followed Will to the other chair. When he sat, the guard left, and closed the door.  
"Hello, Will." He looked better kept today. As though he'd actually put some thought into his appearance. However, his eyes were darker, and the light inside them seemed compromised. As though the cracks that had been visible before had grown larger and deeper, slowly and gradually eating away at the light where it knew it could not recover.  
"I've examined the room and there are no listening devices. The guard would have to have his ear against the walls to hear any of our conversation, and from where I'm sitting, I can watch him out of that window at all times. There are no mirrors, as I'm sure you've noticed. So it appears Chilton has been true to his word, and we are unobserved. He does have permission to ask you vaguely about what we discuss, but before I leave we can decide what you'll tell him. I have thirty minutes. Now that that's all over with, I'll let you speak."  
"I've thought a lot about your offer."  
His voice was smoother, only cracking slightly. But his tone was bitter and harsh.  
"It was quite the proposal. How much time did you spend crafting it?"  
"Honestly?", She looked him in the eye, surprised when she found him staring directly back.  
"Weeks."  
Will didn't realize he was looking her in the eyes. Until he realized that it did not hurt. Her eyes weren't soft, but they weren't burdened with doubts and desires and fears and intents. They were a single shade, a single message, and although he wasn't sure what that message was, it was direct and unhidden. After a few seconds, it felt easy to look her in the eyes. Comforting even, in a way no person's eyes had ever been. It took him a moment to raise his barriers once more and respond.  
"It sounded a little too noble to be sincere. I have trouble believing that you'd invest in such a one sided agreement."  
"I thought you would. That's why I brought you this." She reached under the table, and came back up with a stack of paper.  
"It's the book that I've been writing so I could get access to you." She slid it towards him. He raised an eyebrow, keeping his gaze directed at her as he drew it towards him.  
"Doctor Chilton is allowing me to read the crime novel you're writing about my murders?"  
"I've told you before Will, in my version of the story, you're not the murderer. And I didn't exactly get permission. If you're uncomfortable with bending the rules, I can take it back." He broke eye contact with her to look down at the papers.  
"The Hunter. An interesting title."  
"It fits."  
"Unsettlingly well. I think Chilton has a surprising tolerance for rule bending, considering his own practices. I assume you'd like to start interviewing me now. "  
"A fair assumption, however incorrect. I'd like to tell you what I've been doing this past week."  
"Besides writing?"  
"Oh, I've accomplished much more than that. I interviewed Jack. He's under the impression that Doctor Lecter had no prior knowledge of your crimes. It may be difficult to convince him. I think he wants to be convinced though. We just need to present compelling evidence."  
"More compelling than fishing lures from my house with the girls' hair in them?"  
"I think equally compelling would suffice. Jack gave me contact information for everyone you knew personally. Beverly, Freddie, Alana, and of course, Doctor Lecter."  
"Have you contacted Hannibal?"  
"No. I don't plan on making him aware of my existence until there are motions in place to end his. From what I've found about him, the best possible way to stay alive is to stay as far away from him as you can."  
"And here you've bought a house twenty minutes away from his office."  
"I've made sure that no one knows that."  
"I know that."  
"This whole arrangement hinges on mutual trust. Now, the extent to which you trust me need not equal the extent to which I trust you, but if you don't trust me, one or both of us will end up dead. You know where I live. You know my true intentions. Now, Will Graham, do you trust me?" He looked at her eyes for a moment. It couldn't have been more than a second before he blinked, and spoke.  
"I guess I have to trust someone. Otherwise they may have to add trust issues to my ever growing list of ailments." He smirked, and she smiled back.  
"Good. Now, the first one of your contacts I met with was Alana." At the mention of the name, he sat up a little straighter.  
"How is she?" He made no attempts at seeming apathetic. If they were going to trust each other, then he didn't need to hide his emotions any longer.  
"She was with three of your dogs. She said their names were—Fiona, Gulliver, and Winston." At the dogs' names, his demeanor shifted even further. A sliver of light was returned to his eyes, and when he spoke his voice bore sincere emotion.  
"How were they? And how did she look?"  
"She seems to be coping well. She's having a little difficulty caring for seven dogs. She says they're all getting along well enough, but Winston was taking a while to adjust."  
"He's shy around new people."  
"He seemed friendly enough. He kept nudging my hand. I understand your affinity for dogs. They're wonderful animals. I'd probably have a few of my own if I weren't travelling so often." There was a short silence, and Will began flipping through the papers in front of him before looking up.  
"What are the chances of you getting me out of here?"  
"The odds get better every day. If everything goes according to plan, by your trial there should be a forty percent chance of your total acquittal. Before I arrived, I'd have estimated it to be around seven percent. Our angle isn't proving that you're innocent, it's providing another suspect for consideration."  
"Hannibal Lecter."  
"Yes. Now, I do have a few questions for you."  
"Go ahead."  
"Are you still being treated for encephalitis?"  
"I'm on anti-inflammatory medication, yes, but that's the extent of my treatment."  
"Have you still been experiencing symptoms?"  
"My normal temperature is a degree above normal, but no loss of time, no hallucinations, no seizures."  
"In one of your psychiatric reports—the publicly released report, you said you'd seen a 'crow-feathered stag' on several occasions. Has this image repeated itself?"  
"Not while I'm awake."  
"How are your dreams?" He smiled grimly.  
"I don't have dreams anymore. Only nightmares"  
"Does Doctor Chilton often ask you about your nightmares?"  
"It tends to be how he opens every session. He asks me to describe every dream I can remember in as great of detail as possible, and he also asks for me to keep a dream journal."  
"Do you think this dream journal is for public release or private use?"  
"He told me he intends on keeping it to himself. I withhold some of the details—those that could be used against me in court."  
"And has Doctor Chilton attempted to use psychic driving on you as he did with Gideon?" Will's face shifted from one of mildly amused cooperation to totally nonplussed.  
"How did you know about that?"  
"What do you think I did during those weeks of preparation? Research. Very, very, thorough research, more air tight than Hannibal Lecter's alibis. Now, my question is if he used those techniques on you." Will Graham looked back down at the papers before him, and flipped to the last few pages. Keeping his eyes trained on the print, he said very quietly,  
"He's been trying."  
"Is it working?"  
"I think it's starting to. At first it was obvious what he was trying to do. But he started alternating methods, so I never know exactly what to prepare myself for. It feels like he's stripping away the rotting wood walls and putting in new insulation."  
"Will, the person you were before all of this is stronger than wood. If anything I'd say this has made you stronger. It's made you into stone."  
"Maybe, but being stone isn't necessarily a good thing."  
"No it's not. But it sure is harder to burn stone walls than it is to burn wooden ones. I know my saying this doesn't make it any easier, but I need you to resist. Just focus on the light at the end of the tunnel. Focus on your dogs, on Alana, on everything that was good before everything turned bad."  
"I'll focus on living to be outside these bars, looking in at Hannibal Lecter."  
"And I'll focus on putting him there."  
"How often will you be visiting?"  
"How often would you like me to?"  
"As often as possible."  
"I'll try to come every other day. Now, we'll have to agree about what we discussed here for you to tell Chilton. I was thinking I asked you today about your childhood, to form a good base for the character."  
"Sounds good." Will plucked the manuscript from the table and stowed it under his uniform over his chest.  
"Then I guess I'll see you on Thursday. Is there anything you'd like me to tell Alana?" He thought on this.

"Just tell her thank you." Carmen nodded and opened the door, shouting down the hall to the guard.

"I'm done here."


	7. Chapter 7

Carmen thought about Will Graham more than she would care to admit to anyone. It was part of the reason why she was here. His wasn't the first pitiful story she crossed. She read plenty of crime blogs for inspiration, and had unearthed plenty of unjust prosecutions. There was one blaring flaw in the justice system; innocent people are far easier caught than professional criminals.

But there was something about Will Graham's story that—captivated her. In a way that only fiction had ever done before. It wasn't the writing, she found Freddie Lound's work irritating at best. After much introspection, she determined that it was the man. The victim. The innocent. The protagonist.

While everyone who knew Carmen knew her to be rash, nothing else had ever compelled her to pick up everything and move somewhere she'd never even been. Will's story had more than captivated her, it had enslaved her, until the point of obsession. Until the point where Carmen felt as though she couldn't be happy unless she was there, rewriting it.

Today she started the plan. It had all been preparation up to this point. Phone calls and cordiality and politely asking for permission. Today she made her last call.

"Hello, is this Freddie Lounds?"

Carmen set the meeting place at a café fifteen miles from Doctor Lecter's office. The two people she was about to meet with were major players, he would notice if they went missing.

She dressed more casually than she had for the park that day, wearing a white tank top, a large knit cardigan, riding pants, and boots. She pulled her car up to the curb behind the café, and got out, scanning the parking lot for the silver escalade and navy blue Mercedes that assured her both people were here.

The bell above the door rang as she stepped through, and immediate warmth flooded through her.

At a booth in the far back of the café, was a scene she felt a little proud of constructing. Alana Bloom and Freddie Lounds, sitting across from each other. Of course, they both looked absolutely miserable, and Carmen knew things would get worse before they got better, but it was imperative that they did get better eventually, so she pulled a chair up next to the booth and sat down.

"We have a lot to talk about." Alana glared at Carmen.

"I agreed to meet you. Not her." Freddie snorted.

"It's not like I knew about this little arrangement either. I'm only here because—" Carmen turned to Alana, looking her directly in the eyes.

"Freddie is only here because I blackmailed her. I hope you'll both try and work together here. I need both of you desperately if this is going to work." Alana stuck her tongue in her cheek and crossed her arms, but remained in silent agreement.

"If what is going to work?", Freddie snapped. Carmen reached into her purse and slid a folder towards her.

"I have several copies of that, and before you take any photos, I'd like to remind you of your motivation for being here." Freddie opened the folder and stared for a moment before slamming it shut.

"Is this a joke? You think this will hold up in court?"

"It won't without the physical evidence to prove it's not doctored."

"You mean, these are photos of the actual evidence? How'd you get access to that?"

"Jack has a soft spot for writers." Freddie glanced at her quizzically. "Novelists. Journalists, on the other hand—," Carmen trailed off. Freddie opened the folder again and flipped through it examining each page carefully.

"So what are you trying to do here? And what do you need us for?"

"I'm trying to get Will Graham acquitted, and Hannibal Lecter behind bars. I need you, Freddie, to obtain some more _physical evidence_ for me, from Doctor Lecter himself. And Alana, I figured you would be Will's best ally in this situation. You also happen to know quite a bit more about everyone involved in this than I do. And due to your high standing in the field of psychology, I figure you'll know what levers to pull, what strings to snap, what gears need to be blocked off. Both of you are experts at what you do, and quite simply, I require both of your expertise. Are you open to working with me to achieve this goal?" Freddie smirked.

"What's in this for me?"

"You mean besides me graciously withholding the information I have on you from the press?" Her expression soured.

"I'd be willing to do a collaboration with you. Up to twenty five pages, as long as it gains my approval, I'll put my name next to yours. I won't forget you if you help me, and as I'm sure you know, with my connections, I could make your career. However, if you go behind my back, I'll have tattle crime shut down, and I'll make sure no self-respecting or otherwise publication will publish one word you write. So, Freddie, do we have a deal?"

"You're not giving much of a choice."

"But aren't you the least bit curious to see how this could turn out? If your articles are of any indication, you're nearly as interested in Will Graham as I am. Wouldn't you like to know who really put all those bodies there? Because I can tell you this. If you walk out right now, I won't stop you. But you'll never know how the story ends. Even if you don't particularly like writing the truth, wouldn't you like to know it?"

She scowled for a moment, before the corners of her mouth twisted up into a smile.

"I don't see how I could refuse. You know, I would have settled for a few autographs and a mention in the acknowledgements of this new book you're writing."

"I know. But you'll be going face-to-face with Doctor Lecter . If my theory is correct, and I couldn't be more sure that it is, then that would mean endangering your life. If things were to go horribly wrong, I'd have to live with the guilt of someone dying for a few of my autographs."

This seemed to silence Freddie, at least for the moment. Carmen turned to Alana.

"Is there anything in particular you'd like to gain from this arrangement?" Alana smirked.

"I'd like to get my house back from Will's dogs. They're tearing up my furniture." Her expression turned solemn.

"To be honest, after you brought it to my attention, I've started doubting the relationship I have with Doctor Lecter. I want to know the truth, also. And if Will is innocent, then there's no reason for him to waste in that god awful institution with Frederick Chilton." Carmen nodded, and Alana seemed to relax, redirecting her gaze towards her hands.

"So, you agree."

"I'll do anything you ask—of the legal variety. I'm not willing to commit crimes." Carmen smiled.

"That's quite alright. We have Freddie for that." There was a short silence, and Carmen continued.

"I'll be keeping in contact with both of you. It's important that we meet in private locations, a good distance from the precinct or Doctor Lecter's office. If either of you have questions, feel free to contact me." Freddie slid the packet into her purse, and stood, extending a hand for Carmen to shake.

"It was good meeting you, Carmen Banks." Carmen hesitated for a long moment before meeting Freddie's hand with hers.

"You as well. I'll see you soon." Freddie left the café, the bell ringing behind her. Alana stood and gathered her purse.

"I read the manuscript, Carmen. It's brilliant, but more importantly, it erased any doubts I may have had about your intentions for Will. I can be defensive of him at times, but that's only because there was no one else left to defend him. Now you're here, and honestly, I feel as though I have someone else to share the weight with." Carmen kept her eyes trained on the table, even as Alana stood.

"Alana, I'll be seeing Will tomorrow, if there are any questions you'd like me to ask him." She swung the bag over her shoulder.

"I can't think of anything at the moment. How does he seem?"

"He's hanging on. Doctor Chilton is getting to him, slowly. But he's strong. Perhaps stronger than any of us give him credit for. I've told him his dogs are alright, and that you're keeping up with them. He seemed relieved."

"That's good. Although honestly, I am a little overwhelmed. I didn't exactly buy my house with the prospect of seven dogs in mind." She smiled tightly.

"If this all goes to plan, he'll be home in weeks."

"I truly hope it does."


	8. Chapter 8

The next day Carmen showed up to the institution unannounced. She stood in the same area as she had before, until a guard caught her eye and approached her.

"Doctor Chilton is busy. I've been instructed to take you to the legal room."

"Of course. Thank you." He nodded and headed down the hallway, and she followed behind him until they reached the door, and he opened it, ushering her inside.

She pulled up a chair and sat, drumming her fingernails against the cold table patiently as she waited.

It was taking longer than usual, and every few seconds her gaze would flit up towards the window that looked into the hallway.

Eventually she heard footsteps growing increasingly louder, and the door opened. The guard hastened to get Will seated, and then immediately left, letting the door close with a very firm thud.

Will looked terrible—past terrible. He looked broken.

His eyes were dark, as were the circles under them. His face was jaundice and gaunt, and his hands were trembling. He could not meet her in the eye, nor could his eyes focus on any given part of the room for more than a few seconds. It was as though the sickness in his head had begun leaking out, manifesting itself on his body. Carmen felt physically ill.

"What happened?" Will looked down at his lap.

"Chilton-," It was barely more than a whisper, but he couldn't maintain it long enough to complete the sentence.

"Is this my fault? Was it because of what we spoke about—did he find the pages I gave you?" Will shook his head emphatically.

"No, it was my fault." He swallowed, seeming to regain some strength, and met Carmen's eyes with his, raising his handcuffed wrists from his lap to the table.

"He asked me—if I ate-if I ate Abigail raw, or if—if I cooked her first." He shook his head.

"I shouldn't have responded. He wanted me to react—and I, oh, I reacted. I lashed out. And then he kept going. He kept—saying things."

"Will, this isn't your fault." Hesitantly, she placed her hands over his. He didn't flinch. He didn't mind how it felt. It felt—warm. He looked up at the ceiling, then back down.

"If Hannibal did kill all those girls—whoever killed those girls was a cannibal."

"Yes." Will looked down at his hands, which were still covered by Carmen's.

"Abigail's ear-,"

"It was most likely planted. I assume Hannibal had access to your house."

"He watched my dogs for a while. I gave him a spare key. He could have copied it."

"It would surprise me if he didn't." Carmen removed her hands from Will's.

"I met with Alana and Freddie yesterday, and read them both in." Will's eyes widened.

"You can't trust Freddie Lounds."

"Yes, however, you can bribe her. If she plays her role well, I can make her career. And if she goes behind my back, I can end it. She's the only person I could think of who'd be willing to go face-to-face with Doctor Lecter. Now, I need to know—did Hannibal ever keep recordings of your sessions?"

"If he did, I wasn't aware."

"Is it something he'd be likely to do?"

"I don't think I'm the best person to ask about what Hannibal would do."

"Did he perhaps say anything during his sessions to get you to incriminate yourself?"

"If taken out of context, there are things I said metaphorically that could be incriminating, yes."

"And in order to get you to say those things, did he say anything that could have incriminated himself?" Will thought for a moment.  
"In order to get me to admit to how it felt to shoot Garret Jacob Hobbs, he said that killing felt good. But none of what either of us said was meant to be taken literally-"

"It doesn't matter. He'll most likely remove his suggestions from the recordings, if there are any, and then submit them for use in your trial. Do you know where he kept the clock drawings he had you make?"

"In a black, leather bound notebook, probably in his desk. Why does it—" Will's eyes lighted with realization.

"You can't break into Hannibal's office. He'll know, and he'll find you."

"I would never. I know what he's capable of, how far he'll go."

"But Freddie Lounds does not."

"No, she doesn't." Will leaned back and nodded.

"She could die."

"I'm going to take every precaution to ensure she does not. But yes, there are risks."

"Even if you manage to obtain the drawings and the recordings, if they exist, it won't be enough to get him charged with murder."

"I know. The easiest thing to do would be to find out where he keeps the organs. You've profiled the Ripper murders. Does he seem like the kind of cannibal who would have his friends to dinner?"

"Yes. The Ripper would share."

"Has Hannibal ever invited you to dinner?" Will expression shifted to horror, and then exasperation. He placed both hands on his face and then drew them downwards, letting out a sigh before letting them come to rest at his sides.

"Hannibal Lecter is renown for his dinner parties. And the exotic meats around which the meals are centered. He fed me people." Carmen didn't seem surprised. She didn't flinch, instead focused closer on Will, watching how he reacted to his own words.

"Are you going to be alright? Knowing that?"

"I feel less sick than betrayed."

"That's good. I'm sorry, I have to ask. Where did he keep these exotic meats?"

"Where does anyone keep their meat? In their kitchen."

"I have an idea. If it succeeds, we'll have Hannibal Lecter behind bars for sure. If it fails—Will, right now my life is not at stake. And I would prefer to keep it that way as long as possible. But if this plan were to go wrong—I'm not sure if I'm willing to risk it."

"I understand. I'm sure there are safer ways."

"Yes, safer for Freddie and I. But not for you. I think it's our best choice. I can defend myself. Against someone like him, it's less likely. But I'll try to stay below his radar for as long as possible. If you know of any weaknesses of his, now would be a good time to mention them." Will blinked, the corner of his mouth twitching downwards.

"Yeah, I figured there wouldn't be. Buckle up, Will. I'm about to let you in on the plan. Ready?"

"As ever."

"Step one. Freddie will provoke Hannibal, mentioning the forged drawings and the recordings, accusing him of the murders, and threatening to expose him. When she leaves, he'll move them, and we'll know the location of the evidence. If we're lucky, he'll go after her, and attempt to silence her. Then I'll retrieve the drawings and the recordings, and once we have a visual on him at Freddie's house, I'll move to his house. I'll check his kitchen for any human remains, plant a camera, get out, and go home. If the check is positive, I'll call in an anonymous tip to Crawford, and if Lecter makes any escape attempts, we'll catch him on camera. If the check is negative, then we'll either hope the footage from Freddie's house is good enough to go on, or we'll hold our breath—figuratively—until he makes a move." Carmen finished, and a minute of silence passed before Will replied.

"You've thought this through."

"Well, the original plan was simpler. But this one gives us a better chance—"

"Carmen." Will cut her off, then looked up, making eye contact. The urgency with which he spoke caught her off guard.

"What is it?"

"I've been thinking. About everything you've said. About trust—and I want you to take care of Winston."

"But Alana—"

"You said so yourself, Alana is struggling to take care of all seven dogs, and it was unfair of me to burden her with all of that responsibility. And anyway, you said he was nuzzling your hand. That means he likes you. You told me you wanted a dog, but you'd never had a house fit for one. Now you do. Believe me, I've had plenty of time to think about this. If you're going to go face to face with Hannibal to get me out of here, if you're going to put your life at stake—then I'm going to trust you with mine. Take Winston, and be careful. Hell, be paranoid. Just watch your back. Not that it'll do much good with Doctor Lecter. It's unlikely you'll ever see him coming."

"I have better eyesight than most."

"He'll be in the shadows."

"I always carry a light."

Will smiled grimly.

"If there's anyone out there qualified to get this done, it's you and Alana."

"Since when do you know I'm qualified?"

"Since I read the manuscript. It helped me see how you see things. Hannibal has a tendency to see himself as God. You don't see yourself at all. You see everything around you, take it in, and reflect it back how you think it should be seen. It's what I've always admired about your books. You're attached to your characters, you feel responsible towards them—but you're objective. You'll put them through whatever hell they need to go through to get them to where they need to be. I have a question for you, though." His tone was heavy, and so Carmen, for the first time, answered with hesitancy.

"Sure."

"Do you see people as characters?" Carmen glanced down at the table.

"Sometimes. Often."

"Do you see me as a character?"

She looked up, meeting his eyes before answering unevenly,

"I try not to."

**Hey, everyone, thanks for waiting, this update took a little longer than usual. **

** Sadly, school's started back up again, and while I'll still be updating, you can expect updates to now occur twice monthly instead of weekly. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, thanks for reading! Check back regularly, and feedback is always appreciated. **


	9. Chapter 9

Carmen now woke up with a purpose. And while she had always advocated against to-do lists and daily planners, she couldn't deny that this purpose had brought with it an energizing organization. As soon as she'd left Will, she called Alana about Winston. Alana was hesitant to agree, especially considering that Carmen had no solid proof that Will had suggested it, but when she quoted back Will's words verbatim Alana agreed that it sounded too much like him to be a lie, and that she was overwhelmed, anyway. She asked that Carmen pick Winston up at her house in the morning so she could have some time to get everything ready, and Carmen agreed.

She woke at six AM, and wrote until eight, which, with the driving time factored in, should allow for her arrival right before nine. Alana had texted her the home address, and Carmen didn't bother mentioning that Jack had already supplied her with everything there was to know about Alana short of her social security number.

She dressed casually, thankful that she no longer had to wear those starchy skirts and blouses. She left her pale hair straight, pulling it up into a high ponytail before grabbing her coat off the kitchen counter and making her way out the door.

Alana's house was forty minutes from Will's, a quaint but updated two-story colonial. The grass was trimmed evenly and the landscaping was bright and immaculate. Freshly dug up holes littered the evenly trimmed grass, the clear work of one of Will's many dogs. Carmen stepped out of her car and stood hesitantly on the sidewalk before taking a deep breath and walking up the stone pathway to Alana's front door. As soon as she got within ten feet, a chorus of barking erupted from behind the door, then loud shushing, followed by the click of the door unlocking before Alana cracked it open.

"Hurry in, they'll run out if they get the chance." Carmen nodded and slid inside, shutting the door behind her.

Alana's home was well-lit and immaculately furnished. It was comfortable, employing all of the home decorating tips that were repeated constantly on the covers of magazines that commonly littered waiting rooms in doctor's offices. Solid furniture on dark wood floors, bright throw pillows and flowers in painted glass vases to provide pops of color. It was all so clean, and well-kept, every tabletop dusted, barely any trace of dog hair on the white couch. The moment Carmen stepped through the threshold, the dogs swarmed her, tails wagging, tongues lolling, disproportionately excited at the prospect of a stranger visiting. Carmen counted only six dogs. Alana whistled, and twelve ears perked up, attention shifted off of Carmen.

"Sorry about that. They don't see many strangers. I couldn't get Winston to come down. He can be incredibly shy. I got all of the supplies ready. Food, bowl, leash. You know, the usual."

"I could try to coax him down, if you think it'll do any good." Alana shook her head.

"No, I'll—oh look, there he is now." Winston stood at the top of the stairs, fixed in place, silent. Alana beckoned to him. Winston placed one paw forward and hesitated.

"I'm sorry about this—I think he may have trust issues. It's a miracle Will got him to open up in the first place."

"Can I try?"

"Sure, knock yourself out." Carmen kneeled down at the base of the stairs and made eye contact with the dog.

"Come on, Winston. Come on." She reached a hand out, and Winston began trotting slowly down the stairs until he was at Carmen's level, nuzzling her outstretched hand with his nose. Carmen smiled and rubbed his head. Alana smirked.

"I can see why Will wanted you to have him. I'll go get his stuff." Alana left, and Carmen scratched Winston's speckled ears.

"Hi, Winston. My name's Carmen. I'm a friend of Will's." Carmen thought this over after she said it. She certainly thought of herself as Will's friend, but whether he thought of her as one was another matter. Alana soon returned, arms full with dog food and the dog bowl. Carmen stood up and grabbed the leash off the top of the pile, hooking it onto Winston's collar.

"I'll carry this stuff to the car, you just get the door." Carmen nodded and slid open the door, careful not to let any of the other dogs through. She let Winston in the passenger seat of the car, and put the supplies in the backseat.

"Thanks so much for your help, Alana. I promise I'll take good care of Winston." Alana smiled.

"I don't doubt it."

"I may need to meet with you and Freddie soon, would it be alright if we met here? I completely understand if you're uncomfortable, but you happen to be the only one of us who doesn't own a sophisticated home security camera system." Alana nodded.

"As long as you promise that nothing will be traced back here."

"I promise."

"Then I agree. I'll see you soon." Carmen nodded, and stepped around the car. Alana turned back towards the house, then stopped just as Carmen opened the car door. She turned back around and shouted,

"How did you get him to trust you?" Carmen smiled.

"It's all about the eyes."

…

Carmen got home and set the two bowls on the floor next to her desk, filling one with the dog food Alana had given her, and the other with water from the faucet. She set the leash on the countertop and put the remaining dog food in the pantry before she sat down at her desk and checked her email. Immediately Chilton's name in the sender column caught her eye. She opened the email and read.

_Ms. Carmen Banks, _

_I'm afraid Will is unavailable for visiting the next three days. I will be personally finalizing his psychological report for the trial, and this may require some extra personal time with him to assess and confirm my previous diagnoses. When I've completed the evaluation, you may visit at your leisure. _

_Thank you for your understanding, _

_Dr. Frederick Chilton. _

Carmen shut the laptop and ran her hands through her hair.

"Shit." She stood up and paced in front of the couch.

"Shit, shit, shit." Winston looked up from the food bowl and cocked his head to the side.

Carmen, as an author, knew how to write between the lines, and thus, she knew very well how to read between them. Three days was how long it was going to take Doctor Chilton to break Will. This was his plan all along; this was why he'd allowed her such unrestricted access to Will Graham. Because he _wanted_ Will to trust her, to like her. He wanted Carmen to be a source of comfort, he wanted her to help him recover. Because then he could weaponize her. Chilton would turn her into ammunition to use against him—he wanted Will to feel stronger, so there was more for him to destroy. Because he wasn't just trying to influence Will. He wasn't trying to crack him. He was trying to break Will entirely.

Carmen glanced over at Winston, who was staring up at her expectantly. She took a deep breath and re-opened the laptop.

"It's okay. This doesn't change anything. We're still going to get him out."

She emailed Alana and Freddie, organizing a meeting for the next day at Alana's house.

If Chilton wanted to speed things up, Carmen was happy to oblige.

**Hi, everyone! Sorry for the delay with this update, I was working on a personal writing project, but it's finished now, so I can get back to this. It should take me 2-3 weeks at the most to complete the next chapter, possibly less. **

**I was wondering if any of you would be strongly opposed to a romantic relationship between Carmen and Will. I've had it in mind from the start, but I wanted to know what my readers thought before I implemented it as I know it could turn some people off from the story. If you welcome, or object to the idea, please comment with your opinion! I really appreciate all of your feedback! **


	10. Chapter 10

**Thanks so much everyone, for all of your reviews and support! I really appreciate all of your feedback and it's good to know that you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it. Again, thank you! **

**-I felt like it was time to have a more Will-centered chapter, so that's what we have here. Enjoy! **

The guard retrieved Will from his cell at six AM, then escorted him to Doctor Chilton's office. He seated Will in the chair across from Chilton, who sat languidly eating a succulent breakfast of grilled sausage and fried eggs while appearing to read this morning's paper. The smell of such rich food made Will's stomach churn. He'd become accustomed to the bland prison diet of bread, beans, and the occasional slice of fruit. Chilton didn't look up when the guard left and closed the door. Will smirked.

"You woke up this early just for me? Should I be honored or worried?" He was feeling significantly better since his meeting with Carmen. He always felt revitalized after seeing her, ready to stand up and fight the world, reminded that he was no longer alone. Chilton did not speak until his plate was empty, which left Will enough time to read most of the front page, which detailed the alarming increase of the homicide rate in Baltimore over the last month.

"It appears as though my incarceration hasn't affected the frequency of murders." Chilton released a long, exasperated sigh before setting the papers aside and folding his fingers over his chest.

"I'm glad you're feeling so talkative today. I hope you'll keep it up, we have a long day ahead of us."

"That's right, you're finalizing my psychiatric report."

"Yes, that's true. But this morning, I thought we could talk about something different. More particularly, someone different." Will raised an eyebrow.

"Shouldn't I be the subject of my own report?"

"You should know as well as anyone that the people around you shape you just as much as you shape yourself."

"You mean you want to talk about my friends."

"That is exactly what I mean." Will was quick to respond.

"I don't have any friends left." Chilton acted as though this surprised him.

"Oh? What about Carmen Banks?" Will's prior confidence evaporated immediately. That was what this was about. Of course.

"You're on far more familiar terms with her than I am. She's been in here almost every other day. So tell me, what is your impression of her?"

Will tried to hide his hesitation before speaking.

"She's a gifted writer."

"Have you read her work?" Chilton was trying to make eye contact with him now. He shouldn't look down, that would be perceived as submission or dishonesty. Instead he looked at the spine of the book directly behind and to the left of Chilton's ear.

"Yes, they're the most accurate criminal novels I've ever read. She captures the atmosphere of the field perfectly. Except for the endings, of course."

"Of course. But actually, I was referring to her most recent work."

"She's discussed it with me in great detail."

"You see, I happen to be somewhat of a fan myself. She honored me with a rough draft of the first few pages, but there was one thing I couldn't figure out for myself. Since she's discussed it with you in such great detail, you should have no problem answering my question." Chilton paused, glancing behind Will before resuming attempted eye contact.

"Is your character the hunter, or the fisher?"

"You're essentially asking me whether I believe myself to be fundamentally good or fundamentally evil."

"Both characters are murderers."

"Yes, but one murders for sustenance and the other murders for sport. It's a thinly veiled metaphor."

"Not so thinly veiled. You're avoiding my question."

"I believe I am the fisher."

"If you believe that, then who do you believe is the hunter?"

"I'm not having this conversation with you again." Chilton sat up abruptly, planting his feet on the floor and towering over Will.

"We will have whatever conversation I want to have. Who do you believe is the hunter?"

"My answer hinges on whether this is going to be included in the psychiatric report."

"No." Will searched his face. He was lying. If Will told him the truth, that Carmen had expressly told him that the hunter was Hannibal and Will was the fisher, then Chilton could add paranoid delusions and violent intentions to his ever-growing list of reasons to never let Will Graham out into the public. So Will lied in response.

"The hunter is the fisher's alter ego. His second face, the darker, primal side that he has no control over and is forced to endure during the unconscious delusions." Chilton grinned. His grin never failed to make Will shudder. It was the single slimiest, most viperous expression he had ever witnessed.

"I knew it. The hunter is Hobbs, isn't it? The persona of Hobbs that you assumed when you committed the murders."

"I guess you could interpret it that way." Chilton sat back down and leaned back.

"Now that that's cleared up, we can move on to other subjects. What exactly have you two discussed over this last week? I want specifics."

"She's asked me about my childhood. I told her about my parents, school, everything you already know."

"More specific."

"She asked me how many friends I can remember having. If I had any pets, what I did in my free time, where I went, what my favorite books were."

"What else?"

"She wanted to know my memories. My interpretations of events, circumstances that shaped my life. She said she was trying to figure out what made me, what ingredients went into the building of my psyche." When Will finished, Chilton was quiet. He leaned forward and pressed a single finger to his chin, once again attempting to grasp Will's eyes in his, unsuccessfully.

"You two have a very strong relationship. A truly unique bond. I don't expect to be able to sever it until I determine what exactly makes it unique. I would have never thought you'd get this attached to her. You're absolutely fixated." Chilton spoke ardently, losing himself in his own words, as if this were some fantasy of his own. Will was unsure how to respond.

"What are you asking me?"

"Do you desire Ms. Banks sexually?" For a moment Will's walls shattered, pure shock shining through for a blink of a moment before he raised them back from the dust.

"I don't understand-"

"Romantically, then?"

"Are you trying to get me to lie? I admit that she's attractive. And you know, maybe if we met before all of this, somewhere far away from here—I mean, I suppose we're compatible. But the only exchanges I have with her are question and response. There's not much of a relationship that can be formed out of that."

"And what do you see in her eyes?"

"I see-"

"So you've looked her in the eye. In all of your time here, with all the times we've shared, you still won't look me in the eye."

"Yes. I looked her in the eye, when I thought she wasn't looking back."

"And did you look away?" If there was one thing he had to give Chilton credit for, it was detecting lies. Will had tried different tactics of lying over and over again, but Chilton never let one slip by, so Will stopped trying.

"No."

"Did you look closer? Did you try and get inside her head?" Chilton was smiling widely now and Will could feel heat prickling at his fingertips.

"Yes. Alright, yes. I tried. I did."

"And what did you see? What was she like?"

"Do you remember when you finally got me to describe what I saw in you?"

"Yes. I believe you said something about rotting vegetation, in your exact words." Chilton said it so bitterly that Will almost laughed.

"Yeah, that was part of it. I said that your insides reeked of lies, of rotting vegetation coated in a bottle of the strongest, cheapest, cologne purchasable in a conveniences store, and that it still wasn't enough to cover up the stench."

"That was a little harsh."

"Not really."

"And Carmen? What did you see in her head?"

"What I saw in her—she was clear. I once had a dream in which I was standing on a glacier moments before it crumbled, staring at my distorted reflection in the perilous ocean below. When I was in her head, when I became her, I was put back on top of that glacier, but when I looked down, the water was perfectly still, and I could see myself clearly, and I wasn't scared of my reflection anymore. And even though I was on an iceberg, I wasn't the least bit cold. I was the warmest I'd been in months, like all the frost I'd accumulated through this process was just—washed away. She had secrets and lies of course, but they weren't buried under anything. They were set out in the open, so that anyone who cared to know could reach out and attain the truth."

"Would it be fair of me to guess that it's not often you find the inside of people's heads so pleasant?"

"I guess so."

"And would it be fair of me to guess that you'd like to go back?"

"I don't _like_ getting in anyone's head."

"But if you had to pick one?" Will sighed.

"Then hers, yes. Sure."

"Romantically, then." It wasn't a question, it was a prodding, urging him to lash out and deny it so that Chilton could go on tearing him down. Will didn't dignify him with a response. Chilton smiled.

"Well, that was a refreshing little warm-up. Now are you ready to get down to the real work? I was thinking we could start with you describing every murder to me in as great of detail as you can imagine. I want you to describe every bloodstain, and laceration, and every word that went through your mind as it happened. Your description should be nauseating. If I don't feel a little queasy, then you're not doing your job. We have all day. Let's begin at Hobbs."

Will braced himself before speaking. He had to try. He'd been through worse. He could make it through this. Tomorrow, he would see her again, and it would be alright.

He just had to hold on.

**The next update should be up in 2-3 weeks, and it won't be long now until Carmen meets Hannibal for the first time. Thank you so much for reviewing, liking, and following, all feedback and support is greatly appreciated.**


End file.
